


Weakness in A Man

by Nesrie, Paladin (Nesrie)



Series: Home [1]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Guilt, Hunters & Hunting, M/M, Self-Doubt, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-12-07 02:17:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18228569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nesrie/pseuds/Nesrie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nesrie/pseuds/Paladin
Summary: An unexpected rider visits John's home, and a relationship begins to reform in unexpected ways, well at least unexpected for someone.Spoiler Warning - so I haven't finished the entire game. Just expect this to be spoilerish for the whole thing and avoid if you don't want to know things.





	1. Chapter 1 - Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> Please be warned. I make a lot of minor mistakes when I write. If that irks you too much it might be best to be in a good mood or to just avoid.
> 
> I'm also bad with summaries and tags.

When he first saw the man, riding on an old and weary brown leopard Appaloosa, she was covered in dirt and mud, like she hadn’t been washed or brushed in days, ribs showing and a downward gaze like all the soul had been leached from the animal. Even so, she seemed far more uplifted, a lighter spirit to the man that sat resignedly upon the worn saddle on her back. John almost didn’t recognize him like that, with arms too thin to fill his shirt, a coat that looked too heavy and pale skin from a man who’d been touched by the sun and the weathering of the outdoors for as long as he’d known him.

“Arthur.”

He scarcely believed his luck, to see the man that saved his life and his family arrive at their ranch with barely enough strength to keep upright. Of course he helped him down, but Arthur refused to take a bed in the house, whispering about illness, so he took him to a stall, laid down fresh straw, warm blankets and a stool to set his hat and guns on. Without a word, John returned in the night to add to that stool one beloved journal and a familiar satchel.

That was months ago. Since then Arthur put on weight, almost looked like his old self although still greatly diminished, physically. At night, when Jack and Abigail took to bed, John returned to the stables and joined Arthur with a second lantern. The man entered a holding pattern, light labor during the day, a trip to the stream to do whatever it was the man did and then here to eat whatever ill-conceived meal John’s wife managed to make and drawing, often drawing. 

“How do you feel?”

“Fine.” Arthur muttered.

“I brought you seconds.”

“Don’t need seconds.”

“Abigail says differently.” So do I, but John didn’t voice his own worries. Instead he took a seat next to the blonde, peering at the sketch of the horse the man lost shortly after arriving here. “You did the best for her Arthur.”

“No. I did the best for me.” He set his pencil down looked up at the younger man, a weak smile forming. Color returned to those blue eyes and his cheeks filled in again. “I guess if I did a little more of that years ago we might not be in this mess now. I should’ve, should’ve done better with you kid, not got you stuck in this life.” Eyes dropped back to the journal and pencil where he began to shade in what looked like a tree.

John laughed quietly and shook his head; he wore less clothes now, but kept his gun belt, the old black hat and of course long coats. He figured he’d never get over wearing those, maybe. “If it weren’t for you fellas, I’d be dead before I even got to be a man.”

“Dutch not me.”

“The hell with this.” John abandoned his casual position and moved in closer, lifting his hand to Arthur’s cheek. After having lost so much weight, he wasn’t entirely sure if Arthur could pummel him good like the old days, but he was ready to find out. “Look at me.”

Arthur stopped his sketching, but he didn’t look at his friend.

“Look at me damn it. You were never a coward before. Are you one now?”

The older man swallowed thickly, and the light blue eyes focused on John’s dark gaze, anger, fire flickering for the first time since the man came here. “Watch your tongue boy.”

John felt nervous but he kept going. “Did you come here to die or did you come to here to live?”

Arthur closed his journal. “Maybe, maybe I don’t know.”

He could accept that, for the most part. That was Arthur, the old Arthur, the honest man who killed and thieved and beat people up but largely, yeah honest and oddly caring. 

“It might be easier to find out why you returned if you spend more time with us in the evening. It’s warm in there Arthur. We’ve got a room for you and everything, with a bed and lantern so you can draw, even a little chest for your things.”

Arthur sighed. “I ain’t got much.”

“You’ve got enough.” John paused. “How’d you wind up finding us anyhow?”

A slight smile formed. “I was wondering when you might ask me that. I’ve never seen you this patient your whole life Marston. Why’d you wait so long to ask me?”

“I didn’t care one way or another. You were here; that’s all that matters to me.”

Light eyes lifted again; the man looked confused. “So why you asking me now?”

“It occurs to me that it might matter to you to tell me.”

Arthur lifted a hand to John’s face, his thumb lightly tracing the smaller scar on the left side of his face although his eyes traveled the larger pale but prominent lines on the other side. “They got you real good, those wolves.”

John felt his heart flutter, his breath still, and he had to remind himself to breathe. This was the closest contact they had since Arthur all but fell off the horse when he first arrived. Since then it was as if there was a wall between them, some sort of mystery. “Yeah. That cough of yours sure did a number on you too.”

The older man laughed, coughed briefly and laughed again. “A trapper, or hunter… it found me up in the mountains. There was something not right about him. It was just, it was like the air was too still you know. He said I’d killed a lot of people, good and bad. He was right. I took things that didn’t belong to me, did things I knew was wrong, but this was not one of those times. He blew something on my face, like powder, dust or something and dropped a piece paper before I passed out.” The hand dropped. “I woke up stitched up and on that paper it said I wouldn’t ever be the same again, that if I tried to go back I’d likely hang.” Arthur sighed. “There were two marks on that map he left me, a J and a D. I went, went to the J.”

John drew a sharp breath, that probably meant only one thing, and maybe it was strange he focused on that instead of the mysterious man Arthur sort of described as not being a man at all. “What did you do with the map?”

“Burned it the night before I came here, when I saw your ranch and the smoke coming out of it.”

“You didn’t want to tempt me?” And he was, he sure as hell was ready to put an end to that man and all the pain he caused.

“I didn’t want me tempted.” Arthur admitted. “It’s… it’s mostly all I knew John. I don’t, don’t know if I am any good at anything else. Seeing’s how I’m half the man I used to be, not sure I’m any good at anything really.”

John gave Arthur’s shoulder a brief pat, picked up the second bowl of stew and began to eat it real close to the other man. “You could be a quarter of the man you’d used to be and still be more than most men will ever be.”

Arthur blinked at him and smiled briefly. “Hungry?”

“No. She cooks for shit, but if I go in there with a full bowl I ain’t ever going to hear the end of it.” 

The man opened his journal again but paused, a crease forming along his brow. “You come here every night trying to push more on me.”

“And every night I go hide behind a tree and eat the damn thing. I’ve put bullets in other men, been mauled by wolves, trampled by horses and tortured, but I can’t face my damn wife with a full bowl of stew.” John glanced at his belly. At this rate he’d gain weight faster than Arthur would.

Arthur sort of squinted at him in the dark light. “Why don’t you just go further out and pour it someplace?”

John paused, mouth full. “Well I guess I, well I guess never thought of it.”

The man laughed, low and deep, real joyful like the old days. “You’re a damn fool John Marston.”

If it meant hearing that sound again, he’d remain one too. “Yeah, yeah I guess so.”

Hesitantly Arthur closed his journal, set it aside and held his hand out. “Give it here Marston.”

Most the gang said he wasn’t any good at poker because of how bad he lied and couldn’t hide his emotions and damn it to hell if John failed to do it here. He just beamed and relinquished the gray mush his wife called stew. 

As Arthur ate, John just sort of watched him, still smiling. Ever so cautiously he reached up and brushed a few stray strands behind the other man’s ear. “So you ain’t sick no more?”

“Anymore.” Arthur replied softly, pausing to wipe his mouth. He stomached that stew a lot better than John ever could. “The doc in the city said recovered or something. I don’t think he believed me when I said what I had. Even as I am now he was afraid to call me a liar to my face, but only because he didn’t see me before.” He licked his lips and set the mostly empty bowl down. “John, it don’t feel right being here. You have a family, a good life. I don’t know what I was expecting coming here.”

“Maybe for me to be myself and not have those things, ruin it like I always do. Or maybe you just wanted to be a part of it. Abigail wants you in the house too Arthur. The room ain’t much, kind of small, but it’s yours.”

Arthur remained quiet for a little bit but finally gave a brief nod. He refused John’s offer to help him stand, but he let him pick up the journal, the lanterns and his small bag. “Stew will probably taste better with more meat. You wanna go huntin in the morning?”

John grinned. “Yeah. I sure do.”


	2. Chapter 2 – Good Shot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They went hunting, and there are more bodies involved than at least one of them intended.

“Do you like it?”

Arthur Morgan ran his fingers along the smooth fur of the blanket, treated, stitched, probably one of the finest things he’d ever owned, that wasn’t stolen but given. “John. I can’t accept this.” His muscular build somewhat returned, so he managed to wear his old brown coat again without looking too silly, but even with both his shirts and good set of pants, well this just seemed real nice. He let John keep his original hat, found a brown one that suited him just fine.

Naturally John simply ignored him, grabbed the gift and draped it over his shoulders. Despite his best effort, Arthur reached up and grabbed the edges, pulling it closed along the neckline. It felt, well it felt good, especially as the cold began to settle as the seasons shifted. He closed his eyes for a moment just to enjoy it.

“See.” John’s easy grin and pleased expression met Arthur when he opened his eyes again. “You like being warm. It’s getting cold Arthur. This will help at night.”

Arthur huffed. “I’ve camped in the snow with nothing but a bedroll and a tent.”

“Don’t mean you liked it.”

Arthur released his new blanket. “It wasn’t the brightest idea to bring this out here with us hunting.”

John shook his head. “You just can’t help yourself can you?”

“What you mean?”

The younger man sighed and laid back down on the ground. “Criticizing, maybe I wanted it for tonight.”

Arthur carefully rolled the hefty blanket and set it on the nearby rock. “Tonight? I thought we were hunting just one deer.”

“We are. Don’t mean we have to return right away.”

Arthur ran his fingers over his face and sighed. “Marston, if you’re just trying to keep me busy… look, I know I ain’t pulling my weight around camp.”

“Home.”

He paused. Didn’t he say that? No, no maybe he didn’t. “It just don’t feel right taking something worthy like this. You could get a good price for that.”

“You’re the only reason I’m here Arthur.”

“That wasn’t nothing.”

“For God’s sake let me finish my thoughts. You know I’m not good at doing that sort of thing real quick and right. I need time.”

Arthur smiled briefly. “K”

“The wolves, Jack… on the mountain. Hell Arthur, you taught me almost everything I know, and I get that you doing what everyone else did feels like less, but you’ve always done more than your share. Two men at the ranch, two men good with a gun, you can still carry more than Abigail or Jack… you’re doing your share Arthur.”

The older man laid back down on his belly, the moist soil and damp grass felt a lot cooler now that he’d experienced a heavy blanket like that. “I don’t feel like much of a man John.”

John moved closer to him and peered past the creek into the trees. “There’s a little doe just beyond that tree line on the right, you see her?”

“Yeah. She’s been there a bit now, but not very big and some distance. We can do better.”

“Barely visible between those branches.”

“I said I can see her.” The annoyance slipped through despite a weak effort to shut it down; he never claimed to be blind.

“Two dollars says you can’t hit her.”

Arthur glanced at him. “She’s not worth 2 dollars.”

“If you hit her, we’ll go fishing and find some birds, might be nice to get something other than stew right.”

The animal was down with the first shot. Arthur stood sending the rest of the animals in the area scurrying off. “You saying if I land us a pheasant or a goose or something Abigail will roast it?” He headed towards his prize.

John laughed, grabbed the leads, settled the blanket and followed. “No. I will. Abigail’s not the plucking type, unless we’re starving.”

Arthur glanced at him.

“What, I’ve learned a few things on the ranch while you were gone.”

“I can spit a bird too, was hoping for better.” Arthur settled the rifle over his shoulder. “You’re a better shot than I am. You could’ve had her if you wanted some time ago.”

“I’ll roast one for you. You’ll like it Arthur.” John matched Arthur’s steps and oddly enough paused before responding. “Maybe it wasn’t her I was after.”

Arthur stopped a few feet from the dead animal so he could turn to face his companion. This didn’t sound right or feel right and maybe a part of him thought this might just ruin everything. “I might be an old man but the two dollars I just got from you is more than enough to…”

A hand lifted John’s black hat slightly revealing a glint in his eyes, flickering with suspicion, anger and maybe amusement. It was, well a little unsettling. “Are you comparing me to a two dollar whore Arthur Morgan?”

A few options presented themselves before Arthur, and most of them led to a foreseeable physical altercation. If John really viewed him as a man, there was no reason to believe he’d stop using his fists any time soon. One reply, maybe not. “It’s not like I have anything to compare to.” 

John lowered his head slightly, glanced at Arthur, and while Arthur readied for a physical response, the man leaned down, hoisted the deer onto his shoulder and returned to their mounts, dropping the carcass down and tying it as Dutch and Arthur taught him to do years ago. “Well by tomorrow morning you might just have that, and it won’t cost you the two dollars you just won.”

Arthur made sure his new blanket was secure and mounted his horse. “You might as well have just given me charity Marston.” He spat that word like it was oil on his tongue, and it felt gross to say it now too even if Arthur himself had given more than a little money to an injured vet in the past.

The younger man mounted his animal as well and gave a brief chuckle. “How much you wanna bet one of the first men we run into along the way to our campsite couldn’t make a shot like that to save his life?”

Well that made him hesitate. The last thing he wanted to do was take the man’s money, and, well, there were a lot people out there who couldn’t shoot for shit. This wasn’t the time or place to talk about this. “You know a place, for camping I mean?”

John didn’t answer, he just pulled the reins, gave the horse a firm kick and led them some distance away from the field. It was well over an hour before they stopped near an outcropping just overlooking a small pond. The two men spent time setting up tents, a campfire, brushing down the horses and securing their deer for the night before John just walked off towards the pond, small gun in hand expecting Arthur to follow. He did, but he brought a bow and a set arrows. If they were going to get some nice birds, well he intended to do it right. 

They ducked near some common bulrush and in the shadow and shelter of a large tree. Arthur had his bow out and John’s fingers twitched near his pistol.

“If you pull that thing out and use it, scaring away our supper I’m going to clock you on the head with it.” Arthur growled.

A smile threatened to form at the corner of John’s mouth. “You plan on hitting me with my own gun?”

“I said it didn’t I?”

“I don’t know Arthur, sounds like something a man would do.” 

That distracted him long enough to lower his bow and consider John for a moment. “It really bothers you I said that.” It wasn’t a question.

Of course John answered like it was one. “I ain’t a pretty man. I’m not even that smart of one, but everything man about me came from you Arthur. If you don’t see yourself as a man, I don’t see how I can be much of one either.”

Arthur’s eyes dropped to the water near them, dirty against the shore’s soil. He felt enough doubt to fill this pond and then some, but it wasn’t fair to push that onto someone else, onto John. Instead of replying, Arthur lifted his bow and fired, almost missed, almost, but by dusk they had three birds between them, one fat and juicy enough to spit right there in camp. He felt tired, oh so tired and he coughed, not too bad, no blood just strong enough to challenge his entire body for a moment. By the time he regained control of his breathing he noted John looking at him through the fire, eyes barely visible above the bird. “What?”

“I figure since you’ve come here, started sleeping in a bed, eating a good meal or two each day you’ve probably gained a good forty pounds, got most your color back… eyes look good too.”

He pulled out a cigarette, lit a match, and took a few drawn out puffs. The doc said he needed to stop that, but this situation, and the fact he wasn’t coughing up blood anymore, well he figured he was owed a little smoking and whiskey too. “I don’t know how you notice these things John. You have a handful up there with that ranch of yours, you know with the animals and your kid, your… wife.” He emphasized that last word. “You owe me two dollars.”

“I don’t know how you don’t notice it.” John leaned forward and turned the spit. “Abigail don’t mind what I do so long as I come home, most nights. And if you want your two dollars you’re going to have come over here and get it. I ain’t going to you.”

“I stopped looking in mirrors.” A few more deep breaths and slow, drawn out exhales of smoke, and Arthur considered it. He wasn’t a stupid man. At this point, he realized he hadn’t really been fair with John for another reason. He hadn’t exactly turned the man down, and he didn’t accept either. They were walking this strange line, almost like feeling out the territory, checking out the target and deciding if it’s worth the attempt, just like the old days. The problem remained that John seemed like he’d already made up his mind, like he often did, quick and dirty, willing to take high risks sometimes for very little reward. Arthur felt like he scanned the horizon, only this time, this time he didn’t know what the right outcome or the right decision might even look like. He stood slowly, feeling some ache after a long ride and some patient waiting for a kill but managed to settle next to John next to a log the man dragged over to prop up against. “Marston, you’re not that ugly.”

John laughed lowly. “You think the scars added to my overall appeal? I was ugly before, not much of an improvement.”

“It’s a good story at least, got mauled by a pack of wolves in the snow. I’d say at least twenty.”

“I prefer to talk about the two men who saved me, one in particular who picked me up like a sack of potatoes and just trudged through the snow like it was nothing.”

“It was nothing.” Arthur countered.

“You’d do it again today if you had to.”

Arthur sighed and frowned. “Not sure I could to be honest.”

“But you’d try anyway.” John insisted.

He grabbed a stick and poked the fire. “Yeah, yeah I’d try.”

John reached over, ran his fingers along Arthur’s arms. They were rough, calloused from fighting and working and just never really resting unless almost dead of course. “That still means something Arthur Morgan.”

Arthur stilled his hand with his own, took a breath and looked at his friend and brother. “It didn’t seem to mean much in the end John.”

The younger man nodded but didn’t move his hand. “Maybe not much to them, not to him, but to me…” Hesitantly he raised his hand to run fingers through Arthur’s hair, several inches shorter than John’s scraggly dark strands but thick; he felt the fingers brush along his stubble too and it felt nice, that kind of contact after so long. 

“I should shave.” Arthur mumbled, but he didn’t pull away. 

“I kind of like it like this, shadow I think they call it.” John paused. “Arthur you haven’t really said if you want to, want to do this or not.”

“Ain’t decided yet.”

A light laughed sounded. “No one’s ever accused me of being patient.”

“No, no they haven’t. Seem to be now though.”

John lowered his hand, gripped Arthur’s chin firmly and turned his head so they were real close, close enough to kiss which of course the younger man pursued, just a brush of firm lips until Arthur opened his mouth ever so slightly. The tongue entered immediately although it was aggressive, just exploratory really. When they parted, the two men sat in the ever darkening area, the fire warm and bright, illuminating their forms although neither said a word for some time.

Arthur knew he should say something, anything really. It wasn’t really fear that stopped him so much as contemplation, so when John reached forward to turn their dinner again he managed wrangle out something. “Just what did you do during that year you were away?”

John laughed and poked the meat with this finger, hissing when the hot skin almost burned him. “I don’t have some lover pining for me in some distant city if that is what you’re worried about.”

“But you, you learned something?” Arthur asked genuinely curious.

John withdrew his knife and sliced off a long sliver of juicy white meat from the breast. “Why Arthur Morgan.” A grin formed and grew wide. “Are you telling me I might actually teach you something tonight?” The man sliced off another chunk and offered it.

Arthur took it with a low grumble. “Not if you carry on like you are.”

“Oh come on Arthur. I’m just ribbing you.” John took a bite, chewing happily and still sporting that damn smile. 

When Arthur grabbed his own knife to get more meat, John looked even happier, if that was even possible. “What?”

“Your appetite is back.”

“Marston I’ve been eating at least two meals every day, sometimes three or four. I clean my plate every time I’m at the table.”

“Because you know we want you to, not because you wanted it. I ain’t asking now.”

Arthur glanced at the juicy white flesh in his hand, the skin crisp and brown. It could use seasoning but, well he’d had worse over the years, a lot worse. He finished the tasty morsel and nodded. “You’re right. I’ll give you that.”

More grinning but at least John actually seemed content. “You don’t talk much more than you did before though.”

“Nope.”

“Arthur…” John’s smile faltered, but it didn’t disappear. The kid was showing more patience than he’d ever seen him do before, and he had a knife, a gun and everything too. “Are you really going to make me ask you to join my tent?”

A full smile returned, as if he would enter that monstrosity. “Or you could join mine. You still set yours up like a twelve year old; a strong wind will blow that over.”

John glanced at his tent. “Only one post is a little crooked, but I’ll take it.”

They finished the meal in silence. Arthur let John hang up the carcasses and lay on his bedroll inside the small tent. This felt… awkward. He’d waited on John for a lot of things in the past but nothing like this, so when the young man opened the white flap and crawled in he kind of growled at him. “Don’t make a mess of things.”

John took it in stride though and laid out next to him, grinning like a fool full of energy and mirth. “I hope some of the bite of yours comes out later.”

Arthur pushed himself up to his elbows. “Why don’t you ever wash that damn hair of yours?”

“I like it when Abigail washes my hair.”

That left the air heavy and no doubt uncertainty returned to his eyes because John reached out to ever so carefully lift and take his hat. Arthur wasn’t even sure why he let him. “She’s okay with this Morgan. “

“Maybe.” Arthur expressed continued doubt, but he didn’t push it. “If you were interested in me kid, why didn’t you say anything before?”

John set Arthur’s hat down and then worked on his. “I was going to say I figured Dutch would tan my hide good for it, but after the last time… I realize he’d more than likely just shoot me dead.”

That hurt, hurt deep inside. Oh he called John dumb, often, and he did do a lot dumb things but this, well Arthur thought maybe the younger man was doing something damn right crafty. He’d been bringing things up like this in passing for a while, real casual like, topics they ought to discuss more in-depth like his illness, the fact most the people they once cared for was dead, and, well now this. Dutch’s betrayal, his willingness to toss them aside so easily and for what, Micah and an impossible dream? “Fear, that it Marston? You want me to believe you didn’t do something because you might’ve made Dutch mad? If that’s the truth of it, well it would be the first damn time that happened.”

Again a hand lifted to his face, and this time when Arthur felt the caress against his tired skin, he closed his eyes and just enjoyed the touch. 

“Fear, yeah, but not about him.”

Arthur lifted his larger hand and covered John’s. Maybe he didn’t feel just like his old self, maybe he would never feel quite that strong again, but he felt steady now, almost at ease. “You thought I’d beat you silly?”

“Or hate me.”

“But…” Arthur hesitated. “Abigail?”

“Oh I like women Arthur.” His thumb traced along Arthur’s cheek bone, real gentle like. “I’m not even sure I really like men. I know I want you.”

“That don’t make any sense.” Arthur objected, but he didn’t pull away, this was nice, real nice. 

“It does from where I’m sitting.” John shifted, let the silence linger for a moment, and then spoke again. “I’m going to undress you now.”

Something about the way John didn’t ask, but spoke as it just was stirred something inside him. He felt it in his chest first, then it traveled down to his belly until it all became pooled warmth in his groin. When John’s fingers dropped to his shirt and began to work open the buttons, Arthur opened his eyes, watching the man work with far more serenity and precision than he ever exhibited with a bow or learning rope. 

“Don’t say it old man. I know what you’re thinking.”

“You still scared of wolves John?” Why did he ask that; Arthur wasn’t even sure?

Dark eyes lifted to meet light. “I think about them sometimes.” He opened the shirt, and Arthur let him push it off his shoulders. It’d been a long time since he looked at his body or a mirror or anything that might remind him how he’d become. When he looked now, the ribs weren’t showing as much, his stomach filled and he looked, well like maybe he wasn’t dying. John, of course, admired other pieces of him. The rough fingers moved along old and largely pale scars. 

“I’ve a lived a violent life John, killed good folk and bad. It’s not too late to turn back.”

The other man broke eye contact and leaned forward, brushing lips and tongue along the long scars, where bullets grazed him, knives cut and left small kisses over the deep wounds, the ones that were welts once, profound and life threatening often from animals. Arthur reached out and ran his fingers through dark hair, releasing a breath he didn’t realize he held. He expected John to hurry along, to go for his belt next and his pants but this lingered, repeat kisses and a feather light tongue traveling over his taunt muscles until little by little Arthur leaned back, felt his body ease up and just unwind into the attention. 

Eventually John did let up, and he felt the belt go first and then the tug of the pants. Arthur shifted and lifted his hips to help out. “This really your first time Arthur, with another fella?” The man asked while he deposited the pants near the shirt. 

“I was young and dumb once, pretty drunk too.” Arthur admitted, so much time together but how much did they really know about each other about the times apart?

“You don’t remember then?”

“Don’t remember much.” He confirmed more easily than he expected.

“Well you’re going to remember this.”

Arthur lifted his head to see John looking at him, grinning again although the man was already halfway out of his shirt by now. “You arrogant Marston?”

“Got the best lady and gonna have the best man from the Van Dir Linde gang. Ain’t that worth boasting about?”

Arthur shook his head but smiled. “Cocky prick.”

With Arthur dressed only in his remaining undergarments and John shirtless, the younger man straddled him and worked his way up until he could lean over and claim Arthur’s lips again. “If I am I learned that from you.”

A low rumble of a laugh sounded before he could stop himself. “Maybe so.” He reached up and gently ran his thumb along the longer scars evident upon John’s face. “So this fella you met when you were out...”

John frowned down at him, stood, and began to make short work of his pants. “You’re focusing on the wrong man, and why do you keep tracing my scars like that?”

“I told Dutch not to send you.”

“Because I’m so lucky?” John teased, his slim but muscular form clearly now in view. He had a lot of scars, on his legs, and across his back as well as on his face. For a man so young, introduced to life too hard and too fast, the man seemed especially resilient despite his constant brush with bad luck and death.

“It was dangerous.” Arthur admitted.

John hooked his thumbs behind the waistband of his off-white undergarments to lower them, but he paused, glancing at Arthur laid out before him. “You were worried about me?”

“For good reason it seems. Dutch’s judgment was, well even Hosea knew it was off early on. He just wouldn’t listen, not to any of us, cept Micah.”

The man worried his bottom lip, dropped his drawers, tossed them to the side and stood there in all his glory. Over the years, Arthur watched John grow-up. They bathed in rivers and lakes near one another, rode horses until their bodies ached and formed hard muscles, stitched torn flesh, plugged bloody holes and straightened a nose or two, although Arthur didn’t wear the violence of life so openly as his younger companion did. Still in all that time, his admiration of the fresher, leaner and faster body never lingered this long. He didn’t allowed his mind to focus on members of the gang that way. He was determined to die for any of them, even that black-hearted devil Micah, until he found out about the betrayal. Still… the ranch did not soften the boy up any. He filled out even in the shoulder area, around the hips and the abdomen filled out a bit too, with food every day no doubt, rest mostly in a bed, John looked more the part of an outlaw than ever; he still didn’t wash that damn hair though.

“You tried to tell him.”

“You weren’t even there.”

“When I was up there, freezing in the snow, bleeding, chased off those bloody beasts with a few shots, not sure I killed any, I was wondering if that might be the end of it all. I heard Javier’s voice first but Arthur, it was yours that gave me some real hope. I knew if you were sent, you were going to do it or else.” He gave Arthur a brief smile, noting Arthur’s eyes dropped lower and lower. John might be lither and more agile than Arthur, but he wasn’t small in all places. “It’s also why I was pissed he sent you to get Micah, preferred someone failed at that mission. Not bad right?”

“I ain’t going to praise it if that’s what you’re looking for.”

John laughed, dropped to his knees and crawled over Arthur. “So you’re a grump in bed too huh? Does that work well with the ladies?” He acted like he was going to finish removing Arthur’s garments too, but instead he just traced the waistband for a moment, and then he dropped lower and palmed the outline of Arthur’s growing flesh. Arthur tried to suppress a heated groan, failed. “I like what I’m seeing, but I kind of already knew I would. I’ve seen you in your glory more than once.”

Arthur closed his eyes and grit his teeth. “Damn it John. Didn’t you learn anything? I told you not to look; men don’t look. It’s a good way to get your ass kicked.”

John pressed a little harder, causing Arthur to lift his hips, the pressure followed by fingers tracing his throbbing and filing flesh just, well he was a man after all. “You know I don’t listen to any of that sophisticated stuff. If it’s put in the world, I’m going to look.”

“Do you even know what sophisticated means?” Arthur challenged, peering at the grinning idiot through half-closed lids.

The man’s tongue ran along his bottom lip while he leaned forward. “Not really. I can guess though. Three bastards thought it was worth teaching a young thief how to read, so yeah I know some stuff.”

Arthur reached down and grabbed a mass of hair. “You’re sounding like an idiot right now John, and you’re making those men wonder why they bothered.”

John lifted his head, grinning. “Angry Arthur sounds even more fun than grumpy. I think your cock twitched even.”

He narrowed his eyes briefly. “Don’t, don’t talk like that.” But even as he said it, Arthur felt his cheeks redden.

“Never figured you to be shy in bed honey.”

Arthur released John’s hair and twisted his hips, only sort of thinking through standing up. Honey? He almost demanded John cut that off too, but his heart raced too quickly and his breathing was coming faster and faster, best save his breath.

Suddenly strong fingers grabbed his left hip and John moved smoothly forward like a feline predator, trying to lock gazes with him again as if the eye contact truly meant something to his would be lover. At first he resisted, but eventually their eyes met. “You have nothing to be ashamed of Arthur Morgan, not your strength or body, not the shit you went through keeping us all alive and fed and warm and sure as hell not your efforts to teach me.” He dropped his head and brushed his lips against Arthur's. “Try to just be with me Arthur, just tonight, even if it’s the only night, be with me and no one else.”

Instead of a reply, Arthur hooked his hand behind John’s neck and pulled firmly, crushing their lips together, teeth almost bumping together until he turned just a bit to the side because he was not at all new to kissing. 

When they parted, John smiled, not that goofy or triumphant smile but that pleased one, that warm one that he would see in the stables when John just sat near and watched him sketch, kept company by prattling on and on about nonsense. “I’m not afraid of you.” Arthur whispered. “This just, this just changes everything.”

“It won’t make me want you any less.” Now the remaining garment was sort of pushed down, just enough so when John thrust his hips forward, their cocks brushed another. 

Arthur groaned lowly, his hand dropping to John’s shoulder while the other found his hip to stop the younger man from pulling back. “You have the good sense to bring some oil?”

The silly grin returned. “You do know a thing or two.”

“John…”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t, don’t move. I, well I didn’t bring it in here. It’s on my saddle.” He hopped up like a frightened fawn and darted out of the tent.

Arthur laughed quietly, leaned back and wished he had a pillow. Whoever would've have thought that he’d get so accustomed to a bed that he might actually miss something for his head? Foolishness really to require that kind of luxury. He laced his fingers behind his head, lying as bare as he was born in a small tent and sighed with a happy smile. “John.”

No Response.

“Hey John. What’s taking you?”

When John didn’t respond Arthur sighed, sat-up, ran his fingers across his stubbled chin and cheeks. “Jesus Marston, you forget which saddle is yours?” Again John didn’t respond, but he heard the crack of a twig from behind the tent. His senses shifted immediately, instincts kicked in. Ever so quietly Arthur grabbed one of his guns from his nearby holster; a second increased the chances of them hearing so he left that one alone. He took a moment to close his eyes, visualize the location of the sound behind him knowing he had but one chance to do this just right. 

“Look John…” But as Arthur pushed the flap aside he didn’t continue the conversation and instead he raised his gun and fired, striking the man holding a knife to John’s throat right between the eyes, then he stood upright, turned abruptly, shot the man out of sight once. When the shadow faltered Arthur cocked it and shot him again. The two bodies fell to the ground, the man next to John looking entirely surprised in his death.

Naturally Arthur wanted to put his gun away in his holsters, but he remembered he stood out in the wild buck ass naked, so he just let his hand drop. “You alright?”

John nodded. This flurry activity calmed some of his excitement at least but the complete lack of fear, well that almost worried Arthur. When had the young man become so… hardened?

Arthur walked over to the body and began to search it, old habits die hard, and he pocketed some change and a pocket watch. “I trust these men deserved to be shot, and they didn’t come looking to settle a score you started?”

“Would you have done anything different if that were the case?”

Arthur laughed lowly. “I’d feel bad, for a minute.”

When he stood up, John joined him, dropped a hand to one hip while giving the slightly shorter man a quick kiss. “I saw the journal. It’s longer than a minute.”

“I’m not ever going to regret saving you John, no matter what.” John had to know that, no matter what.

John grabbed the one body while Arthur searched the other’s. “He jumped me. I didn’t even hear him.”

“Is all right.” Arthur attached his belt and managed with just a minor struggle to lift up the other small man. “Let’s find a place to dump em and get back at it.”

Naturally he received a grin for that. As they walked through the near darkness, John started to giggle a little.

“What is it Marston?” Arthur asked, assuming the worst.

“What do you think Hosea would say if he knew we’d be walking through the woods naked as we were born hauling two dead bodies?”

Arthur’s lip curled slightly. “He’d think that’s damn foolish. Then I’d tell him I got my belt, chafes a bit.”

John laughed some more. “Yeah, yeah he’d probably start laughing then.” He paused. “Thank you Arthur.”

“It was nothing. Sorry I didn’t act sooner, wasn’t thinking was all, well not about that.”

John kept smiling though his features softened just enough where Arthur could see the friendliness even with just the stars to shine on him. “I figured something out a long time ago.”

“Yeah, what’s that Marston?”

“When I die, you’re not going to be there.”

Arthur stopped in his tracks, and frowned immediately. Without wearing anything, it was already kind of too cool, but that statement just left a chill down his spine. “Now why would you say such a damn fool thing like that?”

“Because when you’re around, you’re looking out for me, more than anyone else, above anyone else.” John kept walking. “I think that’s why Dutch hated me so much. He knew.”

Arthur followed. “Now that ain’t so.”

“That you’d help me above everyone else or that Dutch hated me?”

The older man had to chew on that a bit. “He always said the gang first, said there were men needing saving, needing shooting and feeding. I guess I thought he just meant, well that family was first. He wound up with different ideas in the end.”

John found them a couple of big rocks to hide the bodies behind. “This should do it. No one is going to come over here.” They lied the men down and John frowned. “When did Dutch say that?”

“Hmmm?” Arthur glanced at him.

“When did Dutch talk about the saving and feeding and shooting stuff?”

“Oh I don’t know. A few times I guess, last time is when I brought Kieran Duffy to the camp.” Arthur sighed heavily. He didn’t do right by that boy.

John gave him a brief tap on the shoulder. “Come on. I’m freezing my balls off out here. I want you to warm them up back in that tent.” As he walked away and slowed just enough to ensure Arthur followed him, he spoke a little more softly. “You didn’t know what was going to happen to him Arthur. It wasn’t your fault. We all know you would’ve stopped it if you could.”

“All?”

“Well I did. Poor kid.”

Back at the tent, Arthur set his gun-belt nearby, easily in reach while he tried to settle on the bedroll again, but his thoughts and heart darkened.

John grabbed a bottle of whiskey, took a swig and offered him some. “Arthur, those two men were a couple of low life thieves thinking they got lucky, gonna steal and kill from a couple of nancies, don’t pay them no mind.”

Arthur grabbed the bottle, nodded, and let the fluid burn down his throat. “Yeah, yeah I know. Remember the good ole days when Old Boy and Lightning woulda warned us. They were, they were good horses, good friends.” He grabbed a rag from his satchel, poured some whiskey on it and tossed it to John. “Wipe your face; you’ve got blood on it.” 

Without pause, John obeyed, but he sighed, looking a lot more deflated than most would expect from a man whose life was just saved. “We lost the mood didn’t we?”

Arthur scooted over some to share and motioned for John to join him. “We can get it back.”

Curiosity sparked in those dark eyes as John joined him, looking a little too eager when Arthur wrapping an arm around him. “You think we can?”

“Yeah, sure. Why don’t we start by you telling me how great a man I am again, taking them out like that without even really looking?”

John laughed, rolled to face him and placed a cool chin on his shoulder. “You were pretty damn close to taking out my head. That hole was not exactly between the man’s eyes.”

“You think I was joking when I said I wasn’t really looking?”

Warm lips pressed against the spot where his chin just rested. “You said I’m a better shot than you are. I couldn’t do that.”

Arthur ran his fingers lightly along John’s icy shoulders, warming the skin for a moment before traveling down his strong back. “You are a better shot than I am. That’s something else, that’s, experience, instinct. Your instincts are shit. You just act, rarely think. I pictured where they would be in my mind, know your height and weight, the way you stand kind of crooked like… I didn’t see his face, just saw it wasn’t you. I heard the other one.”

“And you still question if you’re a man.”

“If killing makes someone a man, I wager those two were men too.”

John moved his lips inward to Arthur’s neck. “You know I was getting ready to take that man’s knife and make him choke on it when you stepped out, when he was distracted. You were just too quick.” A hand moved down Arthur’s chest towards his crotch.

“John Marston, you had best warm those goddamn hands up before you…” Too late. A quick hiss escaped his lips as those cool fingers wrapped around his soft flesh, and it didn’t remain soft for too long after that.

John nuzzled his neck, smiling. “Why Mr. Morgan, you seem a little more excited than you’re letting on to me.”

Arthur breathed in deeply, spreading his legs a bit, trying to concentrate on John’s teasing words although all he could really respond to was the throbbing sensation building up down below. “There’s all sorts of wrong with us getting on with a couple of corpses nearby.”

The younger man pressed his own hard-on against Arthur’s leg, humping playfully. “They ain’t nowhere near this tent now, and there is nothing wrong with a little gun fighting firing up the old blood Arthur. Whatcha say Morgan, am I going to get a groan or a gasp out of my old boy first?”

Both, it turned out. Arthur just sort of abandoned himself to John’s continued whims. At least he knew John must have grabbed the oil or ointment or whatever he managed to grab because he soon felt slick hands gliding and turning and tugging along his filled flesh. It made Arthur feel a bit like a coward now because while those groans and gasps escaped his lips, and his hips lifted to encourage that attention too, the entire time, he felt John’s eyes on him, those steady eyes, those pleading and loving and angry and spiteful and stubborn as hell eyes just looking at him as if he wasn’t the broken thing that dejectedly sought out one of the only people in the world that touched his heart and remained breathing, and he didn’t return the look. And how unfair would it be to tell him it was almost a toss-up, as if the choice between him and Dutch were so arbitrary when in a rational mind, a clear winner stood out.

“You’re not with me.” John’s quiet voice cut through darkening thoughts.

“It’s always going to be tough. If you can’t accept that John maybe…”

“I can.” John assured, and he reached down and planted a kiss, an almost chaste push of the lips against the pale skin of Arthur’s inner thigh. “Just don’t get too mad when I draw you back again to be right here with me.” A smile formed, and Arthur couldn’t help but return it. “I’m going to prepare you now Arthur, so I can take you.”

That statement didn’t lead to as much hesitation as Arthur thought it might. He assumed John might ride him, like a woman on a man. Although John didn’t say anything, Arthur wasn’t a small man, in any regard, and if it were anyone else, he might’ve assumed that was the reason. This was different, and it left him a little uncertain but not resistant, not scared.

When the first finger pressed in, Arthur said nothing. He lied there, peering at the canvas of his tent, focusing on a real or imagined spot. Then came the second and the third. He felt invaded, stretched, and the sensation created a discomfort that settled in his stomach. John remained patient though, pausing to stroke his thigh, maybe even said a word or two before he scissored his finger to provide a proper stretch. So maybe Arthur hadn’t much experience in this area, and the one night really was just a blur of a lot of liquor, way too much liquor and a tough morning, but he wasn’t a fool. He’d spent enough time in camps, in saloons, in back alleys and out late when descent folk went to bed to know some things. He swallowed, and forced a nervous smile, nervous not due to lack of trust but insecurity about his body’s reaction to what was to come. He hadn’t had sex since his illness, since his body began to betray him and certainly not since some phantom found him in the mountains. To top it off, this was with a man, with John, and…

“Arthur.”

His light eyes shifted to look at John. The man lifted his thighs to rest on either side of his hip, and he leaned forward while rubbing almost artistic patterns along the older man’s thigh and abdomen, soothing the skin and the spirit. Arthur realized this was important to John, this knowing, this visual affirmation of whom he was with. John’s mouth opened, and he knew the question before any words came out because this was John, his John and one of the closest individuals who enveloped his heart so profoundly that it cracked when he vanished for a year. He didn’t want to hear the question so Arthur just gave a quick nod.

At first it felt too firm, too massive, like a fist trying to clear a man’s mouth and finding teeth in the way. The foreign sensation caused Arthur to tense, his muscles along his sides, belly and thighs tightening and causing additional resistance against John’s efforts. Ever so carefully John pressed against his thighs, spreading them further apart, then he guided his heels behind him, encouraging Arthur to wrap his legs around his hips fully, which he did because he trusted the man. 

“Easy old boy.”

A part of him bristled at the idea of John addressing him like his horse, trying to calm him like some sort of frightened animal except if the man ever did that with Old Boy Arthur never heard it. And maybe he wasn’t so off the mark now, trying to ease him, relax him in a similar way Arthur had done with all his horses all these years. Where else would John learn something like that when all he knew came from the sons of Dutch? He eased away the irritation, released the uncertainty to just let himself be wrapped in the warmth of what was likely meant to be a term of endearment and maybe even admiration. This time, when he let his eyes focus on John again, he saw the first hint, the first glimmer of the dark-haired man’s uncertainty, and this time it was Arthur’s time to offer assurance and desire.

“S’Okay. Go on.” He even managed to smile.

It turned out that’s all John needed. He pushed again and again, gently, then firmly and then in, the smooth rounded head of the man’s eager penis penetrated him fully and forced a strange sound from Arthur’s mouth, one that started from the depths of his lungs, got held up in his throat and sort of released like a surprised gasp and moan. That’s apparently where the unheard of amount of patience John exhibited thus far ended because he pulled out, pushed in a little, pulled out again and thrust forward firmly until fully sheathed in the tight warmth of Arthur’s ass.

Arthur liked it.

He grunted and maybe cussed lowly, not really sure what word came out of his mouth, but suddenly John was leaning over him, his legs were hooked behind the lithe body, drawing him closer and they could kiss again, so they did, warm and needy, a flickering of tongues, a melding of needs. Then the little fucker started rocking his hips, in and out, smiling while they kissed, groaning even. Arthur felt full, his cock already teased and fully hard, throbbing and aching. He ran his fingers down John’s side, up along his ribs and allowed one hand to reach the other’s neck, grabbing him, holding him. He suspected his past lovers would never describe him as a passive lover, and he was done being one now. He wanted Marston. He needed the hard, the soft, the impatient little shit’s cocky smiles and self-important boasts. And most of all, he needed John to know he wanted this too, that his heart ached and yearned and craved not the sensations of someone, anyone, but him, just him… just John Marston.

Arthur drew blood when he bit John’s bottom lip, and the man shuddered in response, almost bucked like he’d been stung, and it felt good and hard to receive that thrust, to rock against the bedroll and endure the sensation of a too hard ground beneath them. This, he realized, would be better in a bed. It would hurt tomorrow, bruise tomorrow but damn it if he was going to let his young lover ride him like he were some fragile filly. No, if he wanted Arthur Morgan as a lover then he’d push them hard now, see what they could do and ease-up later.

When their lips parted, John didn’t stop. He licked the blood from his bottom, bruised lip and huffed a short laugh. “Jesus Arthur.”

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut, furrowed his brow as he fought a sort of amazing sensation that sparked somewhere inside him, sent enough white light behind his lids to knock the wind and thought right out of him. “I don’t know if… John…”

“Let it go. Don’t fight it.”

And he obeyed. Damn it. He obeyed one of the biggest, loving and honest to god loyal idiots he ever knew and came, releasing against the other man’s belly, thighs and legs.

This of course loosened him more after a few incredible tight squeezes around John’s thick flesh that drew sounds from him Arthur wouldn’t even begin to describe. Maybe a minute or two later, he felt hot seed fill him and spill out between them.

And then there was silence.

Arthur felt spent, exhausted, hurting and warm and well everything he imagined life was meant to give a man, everything he’d closed himself off to these past few months. He shifted after a bit, letting his fingers run along John’s bare shoulders, tracing his shoulder bone gently, just stroking him. “John.”

“Hmmm.”

“We should clean-up and get that bird off the fire.”

John grumbled something incoherently and leaned back, giving Arthur a quick kiss. He could tell the younger man felt some aches, some soreness but here the youthful body faired far better than his aching bones. He rolled off him, and Arthur pressed his elbows against the ground to ease himself up too but the other man shook his head. 

“Arthur please, please let me. Don’t move just, just relax.”

He almost objected, almost but instead just sort of lied back down, focusing on the aches and tingling sensations still coursing through his body. “Hey if someone grabs you, try to make some noise okay. I’ll need an extra minute or two this time around to get moving.”

Obscenities probably followed, but the laugh was what Arthur focused on the most. He really liked that grinning idiot’s laugh. 

John returned in minutes with cloth he used to clean them both up and that new big warm blanket, Arthur’s new treasured possession. Once everything was settled he nuzzled right up to Arthur and put that heavy blanket over the both of them. It felt real nice, but it didn’t stop Arthur from wrapping his strong arm around the other man’s shoulder and drawing him close enough to tuck John’s head under his chin, greasy hair and all. Coarse fingers snaked across Arthur's chest, and eventually John must have found a comfortable spot to fully utilize Arthur as a human pillow; Arthur didn’t mind. He just closed his eyes and let a goofy smile dominate his face instead.

“What? I can feel you grinning Arthur Morgan.”

“Feel me?”

“I just… can.”

“I was just thinking?”

“Thinking?”

“That was definitely worth more than two dollars.”

John snorted and gave him a quick knee against the thigh. “Fuck you Morgan. I goddamn love you you stubborn ass.”

Arthur laughed, but he settled down soon enough. “John, did you have a soft spot for that horse of yours, for Old Boy?”

“Yeah, yeah I did.” John admitted quietly. “Maybe not the same as you did for, you know, yours.”

“You can call me Old Boy then not that honey stuff. Save that for the ladies.”

“Okay.”

“And John…”

John shifted, clearly already falling asleep but he managed to respond just the same, still with him. “Mhmm?”

“I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I had this image in my head, and it was a lot shorter than where it went. It was mostly Chapter 1 where I intended to finish this piece and then... Chapter 2 was born. I hope you enjoyed.
> 
> I am still playing so... I might add some more to this, series like, but it's a complete piece if I don't.


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